No demerits

Sunrise and sunset, my favourite times of day.

Next day – yesterday, dawned clear and cool, but not yet cold.

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Generally, I prefer a sky that is a little broken, but for a cloudless day, this one provided some nice views.

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Heading south to Albany.

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Perhaps I should rethink my prejudice against cloudless skies, which I suspect developed on the impossibly beautiful July day of my mother’s funeral.

Ever since, the sight of a clear sky in summer takes me back to that painful morning, the moment I had dreaded all my life.

As a dear friend drove me away from the crematorium, I gazed into the endless blue expanse thinking my mother was out there somewhere. Her spirit, anyway, released at last from what had become an earthly prison, as she was no longer able to do any of the things she loved.

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Fall is setting in fast, never mind that technically summer is not yet done.

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A few clouds broke the horizon as we returned.

Grant veered off the expeditious route to go cross country.

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Definitely worth a few extra minutes of travel.

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While I love a straight road, I am equally pleased at the sight of one that bends and undulates.

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We had travelled parts of this route before but not any time recently, which made it all the more enjoyable.

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“Christmas” trees, I believe. Poor things.

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Maples, it seems, are the first to leaf in Spring and the first to turn in Fall, favouring red.

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Maples are lovely, but so too are trees that appear more delicate.

The shimmering of silvery leaves always catches my eye.

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As do weeping willows.

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Which come in a variety of shapes and size.

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If you’ve seen my photos of these parts before, you might believe that we are far off the beaten path, away from the chaos that surrounds human habitation.

While we are certainly vastly better off here in the countryside of Upstate New York, I find myself often wishing I could remove myself further into the sticks.

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My aunt and uncle retired to Maine in 1977. They bought land on a remote hillside accessible by a dirt road and there had erected a modular home. The view from their lounge window was of Mt Katahdin in the distance, just serene. It was up there that I fell in love with Winter.

For a handful of years, my aunt and uncle were happy there, but growing old in a remote location that suffers such extreme weather, is not wise and it became problematic.

It was also not an easy journey for visitors. I could get to my parents in England more quickly than I could reach that place in Maine. Travel by air involved a transfer in Boston, or a long trek to Newark and those flights were operated by small aircraft that were frequently disrupted by bad weather. In the end I opted to drive, eight hours if I was lucky. In those days, I often got seriously drowsy behind the wheel, so I bought French language tapes and spent the hours repeating phrases.

Luckily, I always made the trip safely.

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My aunt and uncle died two months apart and I had no option but to sell the property. I often think of it, but I could not have gone to live there, not least because of the bad memories.

Our part of New York is not nearly as isolated and it is not difficult to get to whatever services are required. Through seven winters, we have never been cut off by snow for more than a few hours, yet we are free of suburbia, so this is not a bad place to be.

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There are many eyesores which are hard to ignore, abandoned farms, homes and businesses and though I hate to say it, people living in squalor.

Our own home is fairly ramshackle, but palatial by comparison. It’s hard to comprehend.

Best just to enjoy the beauty of Nature.

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After one last quick detour, we were almost home.

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